Nightcrow
by existaential
Summary: A century before Sebastian served Ciel, he was contracted under Clara Nightcrow, a respectable noble-lady who only accepted a demon as her butler out of desperation. But, as master and servant grow increasingly dependent each other, how long will Clara be able to claim she despises Sebastian? And how long until the power struggle between them grows into something else entirely?
1. Prologue

_**A/N:** Hello dear readers! I'm a new and aspiring author, and this is my first fic..._ _I'm glad you've found it and I hope you stay with me all the way until the end.  
Please leave some reviews when you're done reading! I really want to improve my writing, and in my opinion, critique from readers is the best way to do that. Also, I'm going to give all of you a fair warning: this story will progress a little slowly romance-wise, because I don't want to deviate from Sebastian's or my OC's characters, and I want to give them a nice, long development. So be patient! :)_

 _I think that's all for now. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _The call of a desperate soul tugged at him from Far Shore. His attention turned to it slowly, almost_ unwillingly _; many others like this had proven to not do much more than disappoint him._

 _But this one was different… He sensed it was a strong, capable soul, glowing with light and luminosity, so unlike the fickle, weaker souls he had encountered in the past._

 _It had a color, too: it was golden and shining like the sun. Gold! A golden soul, blessed by an angel, was worth a hundred silver ones and thousand plain ones. What rareness, what beauty, what raw potential! Without a second thought he took the soul's tether and pulled himself from the Netherworld. He smiled inwardly at the thought of this soul that would sustain him for a century._

* * *

 _Her back was raw with bloody slashes and her body was covered in bruises and sores. She was already beaten beyond recognition, but her tormentors refused to release her from their grasps._

" _Girl, you will soon be dead if you do not yield." The harsh voice sounded far away to her, even as the speaker leaned close to her ear, holding a cold knife against her throat._

" _I do not-I will not betray my family," she grit her teeth, tears spilling from her eyes._

" _Family?" A cold laughter resounded in the dark cell. "A hollow, meaningless concept. Where is your 'family' to save you from your fate now? They are as good as dead to you, child."_

" _No! Please…please…spare them…" she begged them desperately, her voice thick with fear and pain._

 _The cruel laugh echoed once again. "Even nobility like you know their place as humans. You are at our mercy, inferior to even the lowest of demon-kind."_

Demons. They are not human. _Such a notion bore little shock to her; surely no human_ could _commit such unspeakable horrors._ Cold, cruel, evil, hellish, filth, beasts…

 _The cold edge of a knife pressed into the flesh of her arm, drawing blood. She screamed gutturally, writhing in the chair she was chained to, hoping for something, anything that might save her…_

Am I to die here? Alone? Forgotten? Undignified, sullied, with my family's name as tarnished as blackened silver? What of my father and my mother? What of my beloved William?

 _Her mind dipped into unconsciousness, only to be jarred back to reality by the sharp pain carving into her skin._

 _She was screaming, screaming, screaming, until the sound drowned out everything around her. Blood, sweat, and tears pooled in a sickening mixture around her on the floor._

SAVE ME _. Her thoughts resonated with desperation and pain no one could hear._

 _Her eyelids drooped as her consciousness once again slipped. This time, though, she was immediately enveloped in a cloak of darkness._

 _A black, wispy figure materialized before her eyes._

" _Human," the figure spoke in a deep silken voice. "Your calls have been heard from across the Far Shore. What is your wish?"_

 _She stared at the figure, not daring to hope. "Who are you?"_

 _The mass of black smoke did not answer._

" _Are you a demon?"_

 _There was a pause before it answered, "Yes."_

 _She felt bile rise in her throat. But she was in no position to deny aid._ I will do whatever it takes, s _he decided,_ to save my kin from despair.

" _Then," she said, "I wish to escape this torture and save my loved ones."_

" _As you wish, human," the figure seemed to smile with malicious humor. "In return, I must have something of yours."_

 _The figure said, "You must give me your soul."_

" _My soul?" Her unwavering golden eyes were fiery with determination. "You may have it."_

" _Very well. It seems we reached an agreement for a contract."_

 _She nodded, her eyes still alight with fire._

" _Be warned: there is no turning back once the contract seal is placed. Are you certain of your decision to go forth with this contract?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Then I shall now place the seal."_

 _The black substance curled around her head. She felt a burning sensation at the base of her neck as the seal printed itself onto her skin._

 _There was a whirl of movement and light, and suddenly she was back in the cell. But there was an addition to the dark chamber: A raven-haired man stood in front of her now, dressed all in black._

 _He bowed and then said, "Your orders, my Lady?"_

 _Her tormentors backed away, unnerved by the sudden appearance of the man in black._

 _Looking straight into the eyes of her savior, she said, "Take me away from here."_

" _Yes, my lady."_


	2. The Silencer

A short, balding man was scurrying hurriedly along the slippery pier, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. He was quite alone in the dark, cold, black night; the moon and stars were covered by a blanket of thick clouds, and the rest of the city seemed to have gone to sleep already.

"Please," the man muttered frantically, throwing another frightened glance over his shoulder, his feet sliding under him as he scrambled down the pier, "please, not me, not today…"

"It's too late, Mr. Mason," said a calm, velvety voice. The man jumped, startled.

A tall man, his face cast in shadows, had appeared suddenly before him, looking down at the frightened man.

The other man was shaking; his face gleaming with perspiration, his eyes wide and pale with horror.

"P-please," stammered the man, "s-spare me…"

But he had begun to shake uncontrollably now, his arms twitching, his legs collapsing under him, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Nooo…." he moaned, falling onto his back, the color draining from his face as his mouth lolled open.

The tall man watched, unmoving and emotionless, as the other lay seized up on the ground before him, his fingers jerking wildly.

"H-help m-me," the man croaked, foam dripping from his open mouth onto the wet pier.

"I told you, it is already too late," said the tall man smoothly.

And suddenly, the man stopped twitching on the ground. A single cloud of breath escaped from his mouth, floating into the air, and his body lay limp and motionless upon the ground.

"I warned you, Mr. Mason," said the tall man quietly. "Do not go around meddling with business that isn't yours."

The tall man took something out from his coat pocket with a gloved hand, bent low over the body, and slipped something into the dead man's pocket. Then, without a single backwards glance, he turned to walk back down the pier and disappeared into the night.

* * *

"Read this," said a tall, boyish-looking, brown-haired man as he paced the room. He tossed a newspaper to a stately-looking young lady sitting in a plush chair, her graceful features drawn in an intense, serious-looking expression.

The lady had very fair skin and silken golden hair that fell in waves down her back—not dull, common blond hair, or lusterless, platinum-colored hair—but _gold_ , as if it were woven from gold-spun thread. Her eyes, too, were a magnificent gold color, and they pierced through the room like the eyes of a lioness.

Behind her stood her butler, who provided a sort of balance to the lady's almost overwhelmingly bright golden appearance; he had ebony hair and his crimson eyes carried a permanent, dark amusement in their depths; he was dressed in all black, with the a silver crest pinned to the lapel of his tailcoat.

The lady shook out the paper in her hands and read the headline: ' _Mysterious Murder of Ministry Mediary Maxwell Mason'_

Clearing her throat, she read aloud in her elegant, aristocratic accent:

"' _The fourth in a series of murders is none other than Mr. Maxwell Mason, an obscure court official serving under the King. According to the medical reports, he died at midnight last night on Blackpool Pier due to asphyxiation. There was no sign of a struggle, but the lack of bruising around his throat suggests that he was not choked to death, but killed using poison or drugs._

 _Mr. Mason was found by a fisherman, Samuel Higgins (age sixty-two, known by locals as 'Sam') at dawn the next morning, who reported that he'd heard nothing the previous night. "The nigh' was dead quiet, alrigh'," says Sam. "I ain't heard nuthin."_

 _The killer, whom the public has dubbed, "The Silencer", left his signature sign on Mason's body: a card depicting the grim reaper and the words, "SILENT TO THE GRAVE" written in black ink on its surface and a fresh-cut chrysanthemum flower; this suggests that Mason may have been killed because he was in possession of dangerous intelligence._

 _The Scotland Yard have yet to bring a conclusion to these mystifying murders. "We're working on it," says Officer Grant, bleary-eyed and tired-looking. "The killer's bound to show themselves soon."_

Meanwhile, we ask citizens to please be vigilant, as there is a serial killer out loose on the streets….'"

The golden-eyed lady raised her eyebrows. "'The Silencer', eh?" she said, setting the paper down.

"Indeed," said the boyish man. "He has caused quite a scare in London."

"So then, Mr. Phillip Blackwood," said the lady, turning to him questioningly. "What would you have me do?"

"Your first assignment, Lady Clara Nightcrow," said Phillip to the golden-haired lady, "will be to investigate these murders going on in London. Remember your mission, Nightcrow. You are to—"

"I know, I know. I'll get started on it straightaway." snapped Clara, the golden-haired lady, as she stood up impatiently and fastened her white cloak. "Sebastian," Clara continued sharply. "Do you understand the mission?"

"Yes, my lady," said Sebastian silkily, bowing.

"Good," said Clara, ushering her company outside. "Then we should be off now. Billie will have a carriage waiting outside."

"Hello, Billie," the lady said briskly to the stable boy once they were all outside. Billie was about her own age, gangling tall, and he had freckled skin and a nest of ginger hair. Clara had known Billie since she was fifteen, and she found him to be quite likeable and genial.

He waved at her in greeting, already sitting at the driver's box. "Good day, m'lady," he said.

Clara inclined her head politely. "We'll be heading to London today, Billie. Take the fastest route."

"Alrigh'. We'll be goin' as soon as yer in the carriage," said Billie in his heavy West Country accent, much unlike Clara's aristocratic one that always gave away her elite background.

The three of them clambered into the carriage, and once it was underway, Clara turned to face her butler and said, "Sebastian. Will you go to the police and obtain all the information you can on the four victims? Use any means necessary, but do not arouse suspicion. I will go to the pier with Blackwood," she added, gesturing to the brown-haired man beside her. "Meet me there as soon as you're finished."

Sebastian nodded. "Yes, my lady."

Phillip raised his eyebrows. "But Blackpool Pier's miles away from the police station. I don't think he'll be able to make it in time."

"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Blackwood," said Sebastian, smiling. "But there will be more than sufficient time.

"You see, I am simply one hell of a butler."

And he climbed out of the compartment, bowed to the lady, and vanished from the speeding carriage.


	3. The Musing Manipulation

_**A/N:** Hello readers, it's your author, E, here. I just wanted to clarify something: I changed the order of some of the chapters, and I don't want you to be confused. This chapter (and the two chapters following it) take place about a week before the serial killings start. This is to give some context and an idea of what the rest of this series is going to look like. We jump back to the 'present' (when the serial killings start) at Chapter 6._

That's all I'm going to say for today. I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you did, leave a review and follow and favorite this. If you didn't, leave a review and follow/fav anyways. A lot of love to you readers! See you soon (hopefully)

* * *

 _One week earlier  
_

Her father's office still looked the same as it always did, with gleaming mahogany surfaces and papers and books stacked in neat piles on the desk. It was as though nothing had changed, and yet…

In the course of two weeks, her family had been kidnapped, she had been sent through hell, and her father, mother, and lover were missing.

How could she even hope for everything to go back to the way it was?

But she did.

The pact with the demon gave her renewed hope that she would be able to rescue her kin. Perhaps, one day, they could be happy again. She wouldn't be able to live with them, but… a sacrifice of her soul was surely not a bad price to pay for their lives.

Of course….'rescuing her kin' was easier said than done. She had no idea where to begin, how to search for them, or even where to start looking. For all she knew, they might not even be alive. On that fateful night they were captured, those men had—no! She would not think of that now….

Sighing, she sat down hard in the chair behind the large, glossy, desk and laced her fingers together, placing them lightly on the surface of the desk. She thought of her father and instinctively straightened her posture, remembering the pride and nobility with which he carried himself.

"Well," she said shakily to no one in particular. "I suppose this office is mine to use, for now."

The silence her words left seemed to magnify the absence of the usual occupant of the office. For several moments, she sat there at the desk like a stately gold figurine with her graceful features drawn into a serious expression. Her long hair tumbled in silken, golden locks down her back, gleaming in the warm light. Her skin was very pale, and her brow very stern. Perhaps the most striking part of her appearance (and one she herself was most conscious of) was her bright golden eyes. They resembled the eyes of a fierce lioness, piercing and keen.

After a long while Clara thought to search her father's desk for any traces he might have left behind, something that could help her find them. But most of the envelopes piled on the desk were ordinary letters, full of well-wishes from friends and distant family, or business offers from various money-making conglomerates her father always tried to avoid.

Quickly losing hope, she opened a drawer at random.

 _What's this?_ A folded piece of parchment marked, ' _FOR CLARA'_ in her father's tidy script lay in the drawer, unopened. The parchment was new and the ink looked fresh, as if the note was written within the last month. Could her father have left something for her….? Almost greedily, Clara snatched up the parchment and unfolded it, her mind a whirl of excitement.

The message was very short; it contained only five words:

 _Where Lies The Knight King_

She read over the words again and again, a little disappointed. The little note raised far more questions than it answered, and it didn't seem very helpful. _The Knight King?_ She had only heard the title perhaps once before; she thought it pertained to the legend of King Arthur….but no, that made absolutely no sense…. _Why would her father be referencing the legendary warrior King Arthur?_

She was baffled. What had a centuries-old mythical figure anything to do with her family and their disappearance?

Hesitantly, she rang the bell pull for the butler.

Immediately, a smooth, deep voice called from the doorway. "Yes, my lady?"

She nearly jumped in shock. "What—how did you—so quickly—"

Her butler, Sebastian, stood there in his black tailcoat, bowing deeply. His dark eyes glinted with humor at her bewildered expression.

"I am your butler, my lady, and will answer immediately when called." Sebastian said, meeting her gaze with his wine-red eyes. "Although," he added, smirking, "you will find it more efficient to simply call my name when you need me."

"Very well, then," she said, pushing aside her shock. "That aside, I called you here to see this." She handed him the note. "It's written in my father's hand. I think it's referring to King Arthur, but…I don't know why my father would leave me this message."

Sebastian glanced up, saying, "'The Knight King' does indeed refer to the legend of King Arthur. 'Where lies' could reference the resting place of King Arthur, The Isle of Avalon. Perhaps your father could be giving a clue as to where he could be found….?"

"Avalon..." Clara repeated. Then, not bothering to mask her excitement, she said, "That place sounds familiar…yes, I've been there before!"

Sebastian smirked again, slightly surprised. "Really now? Avalon is a _legendary_ place, if my memory serves."

She glared at him, detecting the clear sarcasm in his tone. _What impudence._

"What I meant was," she said scathingly. "There's a place, outside London, called the Avalon Knolls. My father took me there when I was young. I think…I think he means for me to go there."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so hasty, my Lady. This may very well be an intricate attempt to lure you back into your enemies' hands."

"No." She objected obstinately. "I'm certain this is what my father left for me _._ Even if this is a false lead, it is a lead nonetheless and I must go to Avalon to see for myself. I shall want to leave at dawn tomorrow," She rose out of her seat and made towards the door, wanting to make it clear the discussion was finished. "You will prepare a horse beforehand so I can leave without delay."

"Just a moment, my lady."

She stopped in her tracks, prickling with the slightest twinge of annoyance.

Sebastian went on, "This could turn out to be quite dangerous, and you haven't fully recovered from your injuries yet. As it is my duty to protect you, I ask that you allow me to accompany you to Avalon Knolls."

She turned back around to face him, biting back her annoyance. "That won't be necessary," she said with a forced smile. She didn't form a contract so a demon could _protect_ her! She needed assistance for things she could not accomplish herself, and nothing more. "I am quite capable of handling myself, thank you." she added, before walking back towards the door. _I refuse to depend so much on a demon._

"It is not a question of capabilities, my lady." She could feel his gaze boring into her unsettlingly from behind her. "And I think we ought to discuss some things regarding our contract," Sebastian said smoothly. "There seem to be a few misconceptions."

"Our contract?" She said, taken aback, turning back around for the second time. Wasn't she thinking about that just now? Could he read her mind?

Sebastian nodded and continued smoothly, "As you may well be aware of by now, you and I are bound by an unbreakable contract. I will obey every command that you, my master, gives, no matter how dangerous and no matter what objections I have.

"However, there will be times when my aesthetics as a butler conflict with your orders, and I cannot comply as easily. Now is one of those times; in accordance with those aesthetics, I will not allow you to go anywhere dangerous unaccompanied by me."

"I see," Clara said, relieved when it seemed that he could not, in fact, read her mind. But her irritation was quickly rising; the hour was late, this conversation seemed to be getting nowhere, and her time was being wasted by this demon. Right now there were a myriad of things she wanted to say, all of which contained offensive language she would rather _not_ reveal she had in her vocabulary. So instead, she trained her golden gaze on Sebastian (who appeared collected and cool to every extent), hid her irritation under a mask of calm, and said, "So my control over you is not absolute. And what does that have to do with anything?" Even to her, her voice sounded impatient.

"You misunderstand – I cannot disobey you if you order me specifically to complete a task, even if it goes against my morals. But I will attempt to dissuade you."

 _Was he purposely being so impertinent?!_ Now to beginning to get really frustrated, she snapped, _"_ If it's that simple, then I order you to-"

"Before you _order_ me to do anything, my lady," Sebastian cut in with a sneering smile. "I must ask you to consider:

"For the sake of your pride, will you trample over a man's values? Or will you let me accompany you to Avalon?"

"What? Values?" Clara's eyes widened in genuine surprise, and forgetting her annoyance, she let out a small, cold laugh. "You are not a man, and demons do not have _values_. However…." She paused, appearing to consider something. Then, quite suddenly, an idea formed itself in her head; in a split-second she made a decision, smiled, and heard herself saying, "If it really means all that much to you, then I will allow you, this once, to accompany to me Avalon."

Sebastian bowed deeply (although Clara was quick to catch the glint in his eyes and the slow smile spreading across his face). "If that is what you wish, my lady."

"Of course," Clara replied easily. It seemed her butler had no wish at all to follow her commands! _No matter,_ she reminded herself, thinking of the idea she just had. "But do not make it a habit to disregard my orders."

"That's quite presumptive to say, my lady, when it is you who asked me to do so."

"I suppose."

"Is there anything else, my lady?" He asked in a convincingly polite tone.

"No." she said in a detached sort of voice. "You are dismissed."

* * *

Sebastian stood outside the office, smirking silently to himself. He hadn't been quite so intrigued by a master in a while. What was it that she had said? ' _You are not a man, and demons do not have morals.'_ He had almost laughed out loud at the thinly veiled words that revealed such hatred for him. She was the first to question him, and certainly the first to despise him so much.

When he had tried to manipulate the lady, he was met with a strong barrier of what he assumed was her own will and pride. However, with just a little bit of prying on his part, he found that she was just as malleable as the others. Perhaps he tried her control too early in the game.

Evidently, the lady had not yet begun to understand the gravity of bond that tied them together. A week ago when she agreed to the contract, she had not the slightest indication what it would imply. He supposed she thought the contract meant that she would be given complete and total power over him, but it was not so. A servant could influence the master just as much, only in much more covert of a manner - either by fear, by lust, or by sly words and manipulation. It was only a matter of time before she caved in to his influence.

As interesting as she was, he couldn't deny the disappointment of his new, seemingly strong-willed master relinquishing so easily. Alas, it was still far too early to tell.

Perhaps he would test her again tomorrow at Avalon.

* * *

The following morning Clara woke early, before daybreak. The sky outside her window was still  
dark and the birds were still silent in the trees.

As she stood in front of the mirror to get dressed, she found herself studying her image carefully for the first time in what seemed like months. She noticed that her cheekbones looked very gaunt and her skin looked very pale; she had not yet fully recovered from the kidnapping. Her nightgown sort of just hung from her tall, thin frame, which appeared extra lanky, much to her distaste.

She really hadn't been eating enough lately. She supposed that being gone for so many days had robbed her of any appetite.

 _And how am I supposed to eat when my loved ones are somewhere out there, suffering?_ She thought as she fought to tie her bodice. She was still so unfamiliar with doing all these things herself, after nineteen years of being pampered so delicately by family servants. _Besides, I hate the idea of eating the meals a demon prepared.  
_  
Consciously, she pulled back the collar of her dress to reveal the contract seal that Sebastian had placed on her. It looked as if a tattoo had been drawn in thin, spidery black ink on her neck; least to say, Clara rather disliked the appearance of it. Ever since she had returned to the manor, she had been wearing high-collared dresses to hide the mark. She'd be damned if anyone ever saw it.

After quite a bit struggling to get dressed, she finally she fastened her white cloak left her quarters.

The late-autumn air was cool and damp outside the manor, and she breathed the scent of dewy grass as she walked to the stables where Sebastian would have prepared a carriage for their departure.

She greeted Billie (perhaps the only remaining servant of the Nightcrow Manor), the stable boy who was tending to the horses in front of the carriage.

"My lady," Sebastian inclined his head as greeting, while Billie waved at her.

The horses seemed apprehensive of Sebastian, who was attaching the harness; they nickered and bayed, pawing at the ground at his feet. Perhaps it was his demonic aura that caused them unease.

"Sebastian. Billie." Clara greeted the both of them tersely.

"Mornin', m'lady." Billie said sleepily.

"My lady, I have prepared breakfast for you in the carriage, as requested." Sebastian said.

"Thank you, Sebastian." She said in a clipped voice. "And Billie, would you mind driving the carriage today? I want to discuss some things with my butler." She shot Sebastian an unreadable stare, who said nothing in reply and simply bowed.

"'Course, m'lady. An' where are you off to today?"

"We're going to the Avalon Knolls," she answered. "I received notice to attend to—er—family business."

"Avalon?! Blimey!" Billie's drowsiness had all but disappeared now, giving way to surprise. "But we haven't been there in years, m'lady! I can' promise anythin' if I lose me way."

"It's just east of London," she reminded him. "Take the path through the woods, and we'll wind up there. I don't want to waste time driving through the city. Sebastian can help you if you really get lost."

"Alrigh', m'lady. We'll be preparin' to leave, then." Billie said as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Good." Clara said, entering the carriage. "Come, now, Sebastian. Let us talk."

* * *

"Would the lady care for breakfast?"

"Just tea, thank you."

"Of course. I have prepared a blend of black tea and bergamot to ensure the lady's alertness during the journey."

She watched as he deftly poured the tea out of the pot. The carriage was moving bumpily, but his hands were steady and graceful as he handed her the cup. She noticed that he had put gloves on to conceal his own contract seal on the back of his left hand.

"Thank you," she said, sipping the tea. She found that the flavor was very strong, just how she liked it. For some reason, this little nuance irked her. How was it that Sebastian knew how she preferred her tea?

"Is the tea to the lady's liking?" Sebastian said, smiling politely.

"Yes, it's very strong," she replied, pausing to take another sip. "That aside, I called you here to lay out some—shall we say— _ground rules."_ She set the teacup down in its saucer.

He nodded at her to continue.

"First and foremost, you must never, under any circumstance, lie to me or betray me. As my servant, you are obligated to tell me the truth and to stay loyal to your master. I may have neglected any lies you have told thus far, but from now on, you must tell me nothing but the truth. Understand?"

"Yes, my lady." _So._ Sebastian thought, his polite smile transforming into a smirk. _So it seemed his master was not totally clueless._ "Although, I assure you, I have not lied to you since the beginning of our contract."

The lady gave him a calculating stare, not quite believing him. Nevertheless, she continued, "And I need to hire more servants. Preferably _female_ servants. I have no one to dress or bathe me, and surely neither you nor Billie can be expected to perform these tasks."

"That can be arranged, my lady."

"Good."

Silence followed as Clara moved her gaze out the window, watching the White Manor growing smaller in the distance. She had always admired it, with its marble white columns and stately façade. When she was a child, she had thought that it was rather like her father in his sternness and regality. She remembered, distinctly, playing in the garden with her mother; and she heard her mother's gentle laugh as they ran around the rose bush, singing songs and nursery rhymes. Without warrant, tears began welling up in her eyes.

 _This won't do,_ she scolded herself sternly. _Pull yourself together. God knows Sebastian won't let you hear the end of it if you start bawling like a baby in front of him._

Speaking of which…last night their conversation had raised some doubts in her mind. He may not have directly lied (as he was so careful to point out earlier), but when he insisted on accompanying her, was that not more of an assertion of his own power? Was he not demonstrating that, despite their contract, he would still do what he wished? 'Butler aesthetics'—what a convenient excuse for him to get his way. _Demons,_ she thought bitterly. _You can't trust them._

And she'd show him, today, exactly who was in charge.

* * *

The view was exactly as she remembered it: leagues and leagues of lush green fields, rolling on into faraway lands, with the Avalon Knolls jutting out in the center of the quiet, picturesque scene. Birds were starting to sing now as the sun's first rays peeked out from behind the horizon, washing everything in a faint red-gold glow.

"This is...exactly how I remember it," Clara said breathlessly. "But I can't imagine why my father…"

"I can be of aid to the lady," Sebastian said. "Billie, stay here and look after the carriage."

"Yes," she agreed. "We won't be long."

"Sure, m'lady. I migh' just get a good nap in." Billie chuckled, heading back towards the horses.

"Now then," Clara said to Sebastian, striding quickly towards the hills. "How do we begin?"

"I suggest we look for a tomb or a gravestone; somewhere a 'Knight King' might have been buried." Sebastian answered. "There, for example-" He pointed to the crest of the first hill, where a large slab of grey stone rested.

Silently, they began to climb the hill; for Clara it was neither arduous nor tiring, for she was powered by hope that she may be able to find something, anything, that could help her save her family. When the pair reached the top, Clara could see the stone was indeed a grave; it stood upright on a cobblestone platform and read,

 _A. Pendragon_

 _A Good Christian_

She struggled to remember the last time she had been here. Her father had also led her to this gravestone, of that she was certain. But what had he done next?

And then, suddenly, something popped into her head. It was her father's voice, saying, " _Look here, my little Clara. The third stone from the left…lift it up….yes…and look! You can jump down. Papa will catch you."_

"The third stone from the left…" she muttered aloud.

"I beg your pardon?" Sebastian turned to her.

"The third stone from the left, on the platform…I think it's a trapdoor." She said excitedly.

With a great exertion of strength, she pulled the stone up. It flapped open on stone hinges, leaving an empty square-shaped hole where the stone had been, just wide enough to fit one person, and a stairway led down into the darkness. She leaned forward, preparing to lower herself into it, but Sebastian stopped her with an outstretched arm.

"I'll go first, my lady. It's hard to say what we'll find down there." And with that, he stalked down the staircase _._ After a moment, he signaled that it was safe for her to follow him. She walked carefully down the steps, joining Sebastian in what looked to be an empty room.

"It's dark…" she whispered, looking up at the brightening dawn sky through the trapdoor.

"Not to worry, my lady," Sebastian said, pulling out a lantern from nowhere. With a flick of his fingers, he set it ablaze.

"How did you—"

"If I couldn't provide this much for my lady, what kind of a butler would I be?" Sebastian said, bowing deeply.

' _A normal one'_ was what she wanted to say, but she stopped herself before the words reached her mouth.

Now, in the dim lighting, she could make out the dusty, cobwebbed walls that surrounded them. There was no coffin or tomb of any sort, and she wondered where the dead body of the A. Pendragon was, or where whatever her father left for her was. Lost in thought, she found herself staring at a stone door, perhaps two meters away, which had probably not been opened since she last visited. A nameless intuition told her what her father wanted her to find was _undoubtedly_ behind that door.

"This door," she said, feeling that she was very close to an important discovery.

She strode towards the door, a nervous anticipation running through her veins. When she got close to it, she saw it had no handles or notches with which to open it. "How…?" She braced her weight against it, but it wouldn't budge.

Sebastian placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her away from the door. "Allow me, my lady."

With a sudden burst of movement, he slammed his palm forcefully into the center of the door. The resulting impact created a flurry of dust, obstructing her vision, and she heard the stone crack and felt the ground rumble as the door broke open.

She swallowed hard and blinked several times, a little shell-shocked at this display of strength.

"Well," she said shakily. "That's convenient."

She stepped over the debris and into another room, which was significantly cooler than the rest of the underground den. The room was very large and airy; and the lantern's light could not reach all the corners of it.

"It reeks," Sebastian said quietly, scanning the interior with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Clara frowned. "I don't smell anything. And look," she pointed to the center of the room, where a chest lay, about the size of a large book. She hurried to it, and upon picking it up, she noticed that it was unlocked. Eagerly, she opened the chest, her heart beating thunderously…

A heavy envelope lay inside, addressed to her, from her father.

"My lady…" Sebastian said upon seeing the contents of the chest.

The lady did not answer; instead, she tore the envelope open with shaking hands, desperate to know exactly _what_ was so important that her father had led her all the way here for.

 _Dearest Clara,_

 _If you are reading this letter right now, you must have found the chest I hid in the Knolls. I am sorry that you had to go through so much trouble to find this, but I wanted to make sure this wouldn't end up in the wrong hands. Your mother and I are no longer able to guide you, so I have written this letter to help you understand our situation._

 _You may remember that on your sixteenth birthday, your mother and I bestowed upon you a ring. This ring is an ancient heirloom, passed down from many generations ago._

She glanced at the signet ring now, its gold band glinting in the candlelight. A lion was carved into the face of the signet ring, rearing on its hind legs, with the words ' _Anima illius non ardeant'_ engraved around it _._ Her curiosity was roused, and she continued to read fervently:

 _I am sure, in your three years of possession of this ring, you have come to wonder what the phrase_ 'Anima illius non ardeant' _holds in relevance to your genealogy. Because of your extensive education you must be aware what the phrase means ('_ his soul will not burn' _in Latin, just in case you have not been keeping up in your studies)._

 _But why is such a phrase written as part of our family seal? The phrase itself implies escaping the justice of death or damnation, so why should such words be associated with our noble name?_

 _The answer lies in the history of that very noble name; a history clouded with darkness; and that which has caused the unfortunate fate of your mother and me and your dear William._

 _And so, before you can understand the nature of our disappearance, you must know the name of King Arthur Pendragon and his legacy._

 _As you may have heard, King Arthur was a fair and powerful King of medieval Britain, having defeated great enemies of the kingdom. He wielded a legendary sword, Excalibur, which was said to have been pulled from a stone by Arthur. Later in his years, he sired an illegitimate son, Mordred. Arthur trusted Mordred with his life. Perhaps this was the reason for his demise._

 _Mordred, dissatisfied with Arthur's kingship, entered a dangerous agreement with a sorceress, who ensnared him and led him astray, whispering sweet lies into his ears. Bewitched by the sorceress, he took his father's throne while the rightful King was travelling abroad. Upon Arthur's return, a great battle ensued between the two ruling parties, and Arthur and Mordred each dealt a fatal blow to the other. Both father and son perished that night._

 _After his death, Arthur's loyal company, the Knights of the Round Table, took it upon themselves to banish all of Mordred's followers from this earth. Conversely, the evil lords who were loyal to Mordred wanted to purge Britain of all the remnants of Arthur's reign._

' _Anima illius non ardeant', as you may have deduced by now, refers to the fate of the soul of King Arthur Pendragon. At Arthur's final resting place, the Isle of Avalon, his soul is said to have gained power no mortal soul had ever known before. However, his body, weakened by his son's blow, could not contain such a strong soul, and so, in the eve of his death, his soul wandered from the Isle, searching for another worthy soul it could fuse with and become stronger still._

 _It is important that you understand the story of King Arthur, for it is no old wives' tale. The Knights of the Round Table and Mordred's inner circle are two very real entities, existing today as simply 'The Knights' and 'The Camlann', respectively. They share the same goals as their inadvertent founders did, hundreds of years ago: They each seek to destroy the other._

 _It is the belief of The Knights that the King's soul has reincarnated into this Earth, and that the bearer is alive today. The Camlann also believe this, and they seek to find and kill this new bearer, while The Knights seek to protect and harness the soul's power, and annihilate the Camlann, once and for all._

 _I will reveal now the secret I have kept from you for nineteen years._

 _Your mother and I, and all of William Laurent's immediate family are a part of the secret society—The Knights. If we have been captured, it is because The Camlann have detected a new threat among our ranks (one that I dare not name here)._

 _I am sorry I could not tell you about this until now, but I had to wait until the right moment came. I wouldn't forgive myself if I placed you in harm's way._

 _The Knights' only hope in survival, currently, is the Blackwood family. They are perhaps the last standing members of The Knights; the Camlann could not find them because they were so cleverly hidden these past few years._ _But for the time being, the Blackwoods have returned to their estate in Oxford. Seek them out and they may offer you aid._

 _As a word of caution, I advise you not to share this letter with anyone but those whom you trust the most._

 _I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors._

 _Anima illius non ardeant._

 _Love,_

 _Papa_

Wordlessly, she dropped to the ground, her white cloak fanning out like swans' feathers. Her mind was racing with questions. _The Knights? The Camlann? Was this all real, or just some sort of bizarre nightmare? Were her parents really captured by a secret society, based on the legend—no—the_ history _of King Arthur?_

"Read this," she said to Sebastian, handing him the letter. She remained silent as he did so. Why hadn't her father told her any of this? To hide something for so long, it must've been—

"My lady," Sebastian said abruptly, standing up and shoving the letter back into her hands. "Get behind me."

"What's happened?" She rose off the ground, her alertness elevated as she scanned the room for a threat. She tucked the letter into the pocket of her cloak, her heart beating very fast. Sebastian stood beside her, tense like a guard dog; he was watching something, listening….

Suddenly, the air was pierced by an awful screeching and several dark figures poured from the crumbled doorway into the room, surrounding them on all sides.

Her ears rang from the loud scream, and in the lantern's light, she could distinguish horrible pale faces staring at her from red eyes, but unlike Sebastian's, they were lit with bright manic that sent shivers down her spine. They looked feral, with sunken cheeks and foam dripping from their mouths. They were smiling too; grotesque, sprawling grins that revealed gleaming teeth, sharp enough to puncture skin.

"What—what are they?" she gasped, backing away in half fear, half disgust.

"Rogues," Sebastian said with distaste, a murderous glint in his eyes. "Code-breaking demons, banished from hell, because they consumed souls without the consent of a contract. They lurk in dark places like this; awaiting the unwary traveler…." He stepped forward in front of her protectively, claw-like silver things sheathed between his fingers. "I suggest you stay put while I deal with them."

There was a flash as Sebastian flung a handful of the silver claw-like objects into the body of the nearest feral beast. Blood spurted from its chest, staining the ground a dark red as its body flailed around and fell to the floor, twitching. It was then that Clara noticed that the silver claws were in fact—and this made no sense at all— _butter knives._ Clara repressed a feeling of nausea as bile rose in her throat. She averted her eyes from the twitching dead body, wishing she were back in the daylight, where Billie would be waiting to take her back to the White Manor.

"Anyone who dares approach the lady will meet the same unfortunate fate," Sebastian said loudly, his lips curling into a grin as he kicked the body back into the ranks of the rogues. He brandished yet another set of butter knives, his eyes glowing magenta now.

" _We will feast on your soul,"_ said one the figures in a raspy voice, looking straight at Clara with bulging, unhinged-looking eyes. " _You can sate our hunger."_

"I'm afraid that may be an issue," said Sebastian coldly, sending more knives into rogues' bodies. "Her soul is _mine."_

The rogues sprang forward, howling with maniacal glee as they attacked Sebastian with outstretched clawed hands. Clara backed away into a corner, unable to do anything but watch as Sebastian dispatched several bodies at a time. Even as rogues fell, splattering blood on the walls, Clara could not help but stand in awe as Sebastian fought with agility and elegance that should have been impossible to do in such a situation. He moved as if he were dancing, as if every maneuver was choreographed and calculated, and he struck with such speed and precision that her eyes could not follow his movement.

Blood flew everywhere as the rogues fell one by one, while Sebastian still remained unscathed. The pile of bodies on the ground grew until there was only one rogue left standing, wielding a pair of daggers. Its face was streaked with the blood of its dead companions.

Clara watched, wide-eyed, as Sebastian and the rogue struck out at each other simultaneously; and before she could think twice, she cried, "Sebastian, stop!"

His arms froze mid-air and he looked at her with the remnants of burning fury in his eyes.

There was sickening crunch as a dagger buried itself in Sebastian shoulder.

It was all she could do to keep herself from screaming. She couldn't look away from the blood cascading all down his front, pooling on the ground…

 _Did I just...did I just …_ She thought numbly, her eyes wide with horror.

With great difficulty, she suppressed her shock and said in a forcibly distant tone, "Don't kill him. I want to know why they attacked us."

"Yes, my lady." Sebastian said, gritting his teeth. He removed the dagger and dropped it onto the floor, wincing. More blood poured from the wound, ruining his once-immaculate tailcoat.

He tackled down the rogue, and its dagger clattered to the floor. Its limbs thrashed about, its eyes wild as Clara walked calmly to the rogue, picked up the fallen dagger, and pointed it straight at its throat.

"Tell me why you're here." She demanded, trying to ignore the blood streaming from Sebastian's shoulder.

" _We smelled a feast,"_ it answered, baring its teeth at her, " _for the Golden Soul has come to life."_

"Don't talk nonsense," she spat, pressing the edge of the blade to its neck. "Tell the—"

Suddenly, before she could stop him, Sebastian took the other dagger and, in a clean motion, severed its head. Its body crumpled to the ground lifelessly.

She looked at him, her golden eyes burning. "Why did you—"

"There was nothing more it could tell us, and I was growing restless." He said in a bored tone. "It was going to eat your soul, my lady. Surely you didn't think I would allow for that?"

She stared in disgust at the twitching headless body before her.

Sebastian smirked and said, "What's wrong, my lady? Has this slaughter and bloodshed caused you to fear me?"

She lifted her golden gaze to his crimson eyes. She said coldly, "Why should I _fear_ you?" She glanced at his mangled shoulder. "Clearly, you have no trouble obeying my orders.

"Remind me again, Sebastian," she continued monotonously, looking back up at him. "Exactly what is the extent of my control over you?"

There was a pause, and then very quietly, "It is absolute, my lady."

She fought the the urge to smile. "Then this is an order: dispose of these bodies in the most efficient manner possible," She gestured at the bloody remains of the rogue demons that littered the floor. "I'll be waiting at the carriage."

"And," she added, almost as an afterthought, glancing at his blood-stained gloves, "Change your gloves out. They're repulsive."

With that, she swept out of the room and up the staircase, her white cloak billowing out behind her.

* * *

Billie was resting against the carriage, his hat pulled over his eyes. The sun had fully risen now, although the air was still chilly and the wind was cool.

She stood there silently, thinking to herself. Despite what she said earlier, what the rogue demon mentioned about a 'golden soul' had piqued her interest. And to add to that, there was something in the letter that referenced King Arthur's immortal soul…

She couldn't help wondering if they had something to do with each other. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that, just because she had read about it, the two instances were related. And then there was mention of the Blackwoods, the Knights' "only hope". She would be able to meet them tomorrow, if all went well.

She sighed. Since when had her life revolved so much around the Knights, King Arthur, and golden souls? It was hard to believe that a few short weeks ago, she had been a young debutante, dancing in balls, meeting suitors….But one thing was clear: Whether she liked it or not, her life had been, most definitely, wholly transformed.

* * *

Sebastian observed the lady from across the carriage. She had fallen asleep, no doubt due to the fatigue the incident in the Knolls had caused. Sebastian's shoulder gave a painful throb, and he cursed his master under his breath.

"You are clever, my lady," he murmured. "You give me little choice….I'm afraid I may have to defer to more….improper methods."

* * *

That night, Clara dreamt that she was in the fields surrounding the White Manor.

 _It was springtime, and the flowers were in full bloom, dotting the landscape with color. William was there too, lying on the ground next to her, handsome as ever, with his honey-colored hair falling into his clear blue eyes._

 _They were laughing at something he had said earlier, and she found herself capturing his smiling face in her eyes, trying to engrave it into her memory._

 _She stared up at the clear sky as the laughter began to die down. The bright color of the sky was almost identical to the blue of William's eyes…_

" _Clara," he said suddenly, gazing at her. "I want to tell you something."_

" _What?" she asked obliviously, still staring dreamily at the sky._

 _He sat up abruptly, looking down at her. Now aware of the air of seriousness, she sat up also, her golden eyes trained on him._

" _What is it, Will?" She said again, quieter this time._

" _I-I love you," he said as small dots of color blossomed across his face._

 _She smiled at him with the innocence of a child. "I love you too, Will. I always have."_

 _The field of flowers dissolved into marble floors and the sky turned into a high, vaulted ceiling. Lights were sparkling, and warm laughter echoed from the dance floor as an orchestra played a light waltz. It was Clara's nineteenth birthday, and this party was to celebrate her coming of age._

 _All was going well until suddenly, there was a crash of glass as a window was smashed open. A hush fell on the crowd of partygoers, and masked figures in black began climbing in through the window, drawing swords._

 _Pandemonium and chaos reigned. People rushed about, yelling and screaming, forgetting the occasion entirely and running for their lives. The masked men weaved through the crowd, pushing people out of the way, knocking them down._

 _Beside her, William said urgently, "Clara. We have to get out of here. Now!"_

 _He grabbed her hand and they began running towards the door, darting through the thick mass of panicking people._

" _What's happening? Wait! Will! What about my mother and father? And what about your parents?" She said, struggling to catch her breath._

" _We've no time, Clara! They'll be able to handle themselves. Now come on!" He turned back around towards the door, only to find himself facing a tall masked man, looming over them._

 _The man smiled at down at them, and said, "My, my. Have the prince and princess come to join the party?"_

 _Behind him, she saw the figures of her parents being held captive by two men, each holding a knife against her parents' throats._

" _No!" She cried. "Mother! Father!" She rushed towards them before she realized what she was doing._

" _No, Clara!" Her mother cried, her face wrought with desperation._

 _Clara was yanked off of her feet suddenly, and she felt an iron grip close tightly around her wrist. She yelled in pain, fighting to free herself from her captor's grasp._

" _Don't touch her!" William shouted angrily, drawing his sword. Shaking, he tried to land a blow to her captor's leg, but he was blocked by another sword._

 _The first masked man had drawn his sword and was no longer smiling. Ominously, he turned to Clara and said, "Say goodnight, princess."_

 _She felt a hard blow connect with her head, and everything went black._

She woke with a start, breaking out in cold sweat. She breathed a sigh of relief as she realized she must have been dreaming. There were no masked men. And Will was not there. She was in her room, and she was alone.

All of a sudden, unable to stop herself, she burst into tears, sobs racking her body; she rocked back and forth, clutching her knees, wishing she was not alone. She looked up at the family portrait hanging on the wall across from her bed. Her mother smiled down at her, and beside her stood her father, stern and grave.

"Mother," she whispered. "Father…What am I doing? What if—what if I can't save you?"

The portrait did not answer.

She collapsed into sobs again, wishing now more than ever that she was not so alone.

Unable to withstand the eyes of her parents staring at her from the portrait, she fastened her white cloak and slipped out quietly into the garden.

The night was clear and the stars were out, illuminating the garden path. Her thoughts returned once again to Will, who she missed now more than ever.

She remembered when she first met him; they were each only ten years old, and she had been taller than him then. Over the years, they had gotten closer and eventually, fell in love. Being an only child, he was the first she could share laughter with and first to share her tears with. Come to think of it, before she had met Will, she had been quite lonely.

And now he was gone again. Somewhere out there, in the vastness of the world…

"Will," she said quietly to the starry sky as another tear ran down her face. "Where the hell are you when I need you?"

And she stood there under the starlit sky for a long while, thinking about how she got to this helpless, lost state.


	4. Phillip Blackwood

_**A/N:**_ _ _Okay, okay, I've been a bad author. I know I promised that I would post at the beginning of August, and now it's like mid-August...but I have an explanation. So I sat down to write this chapter but then I got distracted and I accidentally...started writing a new fic. Oops. I'll have more info on that later, but for now, I'll tell you that it's in the Maid-sama universe ;)  
_  
 _Anyways_ , _here is the chapter (better late than never, right?); I hope you enjoy. I'm really sorry it's so short, I'll probably add more on later. Please, please, please review/fav/follow! Reviews are especially important because they'll help me improve my writing - so please leave one!__

Note: The end of this chapter returns us to the _'present', where the serial killings and stuff happens._

 _ _Love all my readers :)_  
_

* * *

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Blackwood. And this is my butler, Sebastian. I assume you received my letter promptly yesterday?"

In the parlor sat a tall, smiling, boyish-looking young man, lounging comfortably in a large armchair. He regarded Clara with light hazel eyes that were framed with dark, thick lashes; to her they looked like the round, doleful eyes of a puppy dog. His youthfulness was accented by close-cropped brown hair and bangs fell childishly across his forehead. At a glance she could tell he was also an aristocrat; his clothes looked expensive and were made from fine fabric, and he had the look of a well-bred man. The only thing amiss was that he seemed too young to be a lord; Clara guessed he was not more than five and twenty.

"Oh, yes, quite a nice surprise it gave me. And it is my pleasure," He smiled widely, displaying a row of amazingly bright, white teeth. With a playful twinkle in his boyish eyes, he added, "My pleasure to make acquaintance with such a _charmingly beautiful lady._ "

Clara raised her eyebrows, taken aback at his forwardness. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian twitch fleetingly.

"You flatter me," said Clara carefully, although her golden eyes surveying the man in a most piercing manner. Surely this could not be the true disposition of such an innocent-looking young man?

"Oh, but I speak the truth," he replied, shaking brown hair out of his eyes and pretending to be offended at her remark; and he looked more boyish than ever.

"And I must make another correction, milady," Phillip said, giving another dazzlingly bright smile. "I am not the Lord Blackwood; my father is the Lord, the one you asked to meet in your letter. Unfortunately, he has been away on family matters for quite some time now, and since last spring, I've been the one to deal with all this...'Knights business'.

"So I came to meet you in place of the Lord Blackwood. I can't say either of us are any worse off, can I?" And he flashed her a quick wink, his playful eyes glinting with mirth.

"I suppose not," said Clara as she leaned back in her chair, a glint of amusement sparking in the depths of her eyes. _Was this man for real?_ "Then, Mr. Blackwood—"

"Oh, don't; 'Mr. Blackwood' is my father!" He laughed lightly.

"But I insist—"

"Please," he said, grinning as he suddenly lunged across the coffee table and seized her hand in his. "Call me Phillip." And he bent his head low over her hand, brushing over her knuckles softly with his lips.

Clara's eyebrows travelled even higher up her forehead, her gold eyes widening comically, and behind her, Sebastian gave another, more noticeable twitch. Phillip sank back into his chair, smirking very slightly, seeming to relish in Clara's surprised expression. Meanwhile, gears began to turn in Clara's head. He was obviously flirting with her, but...why? They had only just met and he had nothing to gain from her in doing so—a split second later, something registered in Clara's mind.

The surprise had gone from her features; she now wore an expression of complete spiritlessness-because at this moment she concluded that her guest, and the only hope for her parents, was a flirt, a philanderer, one of _those_ men-God knew she'd met those kind before, at dinner parties, at balls; one could find them usually among a crowd of admirers, sweet-talking the ladies, showering them with empty words and flashy smiles-and her innards seemed to shrink with slight hopelessness. What great responsibility rested upon this fickle man's shoulders!

"As I was saying," Clara said, forcing a patient tone, clutching her hand protectively, "I wanted to clarify a few matters."

"Certainly," replied Phillip pleasantly, leaning back into his chair casually.

"Then, first—about my parents: Were they really captured by the Camlann? How—how can I save them?"

He did not answer immediately, but continued to look at her. The playful glint in his eyes was extinguished, replaced by a serious gaze. "Yes, we—I believe they were." he answered quietly, and his voice too had become heavier, graver. "As to how you can save them, I'm afraid...I'm afraid I do not know."

"But why?" Clara pressed persistently. "Why were they taken? In his last letter my father mentioned something about a...threat to the Camlann. What exactly...?"

There was a pause at her unspoken question. "I'm not at liberty to say," he said finally, studying her with the air of one trying to decipher a particularly difficult text.

"Who holds you?" She persisted as her fierce golden eyes bored intensely into soft brown  
ones.

"I'm not at liberty to say that either." Her eyes continued to bore into his, and Phillip had the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that if he didn't look away soon, he might catch fire from her burning gaze.

"Aren't you?"

Silence met her query. She stared for a moment longer, then blinked and leaned back again in her chair. "Fine, then. I will not press you for information at the moment. The main reason I have asked you here is to for this: Mr. Blackwood—"

"Phillip." He corrected, giving a hardened smile that did not seem to shine as brightly as it did a minute ago.

She ignored him. "—I would like to request that you help me rescue my parents and fiancé from the Camlann."

There was a pause.

"I cannot."

"You—you what?" She faltered.

"I said I cannot help you," Phillip Blackwood said heavily, his voice as steady as his gaze; and it seemed all traces of the flirtatious youth Clara had met just moments before were gone.

"May I ask why?" She asked coolly, clenching her fists to keep her hands from trembling.

"Because, to be frank with you—I do not trust you."

Her brows knit. "What do you mean?" said Clara quickly.

"I mean," Phillip replied quietly, levelling his gaze with hers, "I cannot take your word that you are who you claim to be."

His words took a moment to process in her mind, and she could hardly keep herself from sounding indignant when she reacted: "You mean to say that you—that you think I am posing as Clara Nightcrow?"

"You could be, for all I know," Phillip shifted in his armchair, levelling his gaze again. "And I cannot reveal information that is critical to the Knights—"

"I am no imposter!" Clara had gotten up abruptly from her chair, and standing there, her golden eyes flaming, her cheeks flushing, the sun lighting her face, and she made an impressive figure as she towered over Phillip Blackwood. "I am Clara Nightcrow, of the Lord and Lady Nightcrow! You cannot—" She made a sudden movement and twisted the ring off her finger. "Here, look, our family ring—"

"— that you may have taken from Lord Nightcrow's dead body!" Phillip's eyes flashed as he stood up too, and he was but an inch taller than her, but taller all the same—

Clara bristled dangerously. "You _dare_ —"

"Yes, I dare!" Phillip shouted.

"Excuse me." A voice interjected calmly.

Both the lady and Phillip snapped their heads back to look at the source. Sebastian, who had been silent until this point, had spoken.

"Shouting is absolutely not permitted in the house. May I suggest we all calm ourselves?" Sebastian said, donning a coy smile.

They both stared blankly at him for several seconds, then seemed to realize their impoliteness. Clara took a calming breath and slowly lowered herself back into her chair.

"My apologies, Mr. Blackwood," Clara said in a clear tone, inclining her head. He did not correct her this time. "Please, continue with what you were saying."

Phillip nodded at her, business-like, as he began to pace the room in slow, purposeful strides. Halfway across the parlor, Phillip began to speak. "The Knights," he began, "are a noble, honorable organization, dedicated to bringing justice to the world. Our founders set these values upon us a millennia ago, and to this day, we uphold them to the best of our ability."

"' _We'_?" Clara interrupted sharply. "So there are more remaining members, then? It's not just you?"

Phillip paused, seeming to have realized that he'd made a slip. Then he continued seamlessly, choosing to ignore her, "Recently, there has been a widespread attack on most of the existing members—your parents included." He said, throwing her a swift glance. "If you wish to obtain our intelligence on this matter, you must first be inducted into the organization. And in order for that, there are certain trials one must pass before gaining admission into our society."

"What trials?" Clara asked breathlessly. "How—"

"These trials will test your honor and courage, in accordance with our values," Phillip went on patiently, and there was a teacher-like air about him as he spoke. "You will be tasked, therefore, with three acts of chivalry and valiance before you are allowed to join the Knights. Failure to carry out these acts will result in denied admission to the Knights society."

"'Acts of chivalry'?" Clara repeated dubiously. "What does that mean?"

"An act of chivalry," Phillip said loftily, "is defined as an act that champions the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil." There was something about the way he said it that made Clara think he'd memorized it from a textbook. "For example," he continued, seeing the nonplussed look on Clara's face, "you may perhaps save a damsel in distress, or give service to the community…."

Damsel in distress? Chivalry? It all sounded very much like something from a fairytale. Clara's mouth went dry, her determination wavering for the first time.

"And I must perform three of these sorts of acts?" Clara said, her voice much quieter than usual.

"That is correct." Phillip nodded firmly.

"How….how long does it usually take for someone to complete the trials?" Clara asked in a hushed tone.

"Oh, I don't know…." Phillip looked thoughtful. "Perhaps several months, at the very least."  
 **  
**" _Several months?_ " Clara said incredulously. "Mr. Blackwood," she went on urgently, "I haven't that sort of time. My parents and my fiancé, they're—"

"Then I suggest you work as quickly as possible," Phillip cut in, his eyes serious.

Clara wanted to retort, but something about Phillip's tone made it sound final.

There was a long pause in which both of them stared at the other; Phillip's gaze was calm and unperturbed; Clara's was intense and blazing. _He's your best chance,_ Clara thought desperately. _He's your_ only _chance._ And thinking of her mother, her father, and of William, Clara made up her mind.

"Very well," Clara agreed at last, her eyes alight with determination. "I will undertake the trials. If, however, I find that you are lying to me—"

"I assure you, this is no lie." Phillip said gravely. "And I must warn you: joining the Knights is a serious commitment. Passing this trial can be no easy task."

"I am aware," Clara said, her chin held high. "But I have already made my decision."

"Very well," said Phillip. "And there is one more thing, milady."

She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"In order for the trial to remain fair, I must administer and assign your acts of chivalry," Phillip said, a little bit of a twinkle returning to his eyes. "I also must stay close by to judge your character, to see if you are worthy."

It could not have been plainer what he was asking. "That can be arranged," said Clara matter-of-factly. "I have a guest room where you may stay—Sebastian can show it to you—while you assign my….acts of chivalry."

"You are certain?" Phillip inquired hesitantly. "If you like, you can come to my estate in Oxford—"

"No, I prefer it this way." Clara said.

Phillip beamed, his smile blinding once again. "Splendid! Then I will ask Graham to bring in my bags."

"Please," Clara said, and he left the parlor and out the door where his carriage was parked. Clara scowled after him. _What kind of a man asks you to his estate, but brings his own luggage?_ She scoffed silently. Sebastian seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because one of his eyebrows was raised slightly.

A minute later Phillip returned with an aging, gray-haired footman, hunched under a heavy load of suitcases.

"Sebastian," said Clara, a little disdainfully, "Do help the poor man with those bags."

"Yes, my lady," he said, and within seconds the old footman Graham was relieved of his burden.

"And come back here when you're done, I need a word with you," Clara said, frowning deeply.

* * *

"You asked for me, my lady?" Sebastian was standing at a bow in the doorway.

"Yes," Clara said, sounding serious and purposeful. "I have a rather unusual request of you, Sebastian. I want you to teach me how to wield a sword."

He blinked. "May I ask why the lady made such a request?"

She turned away from him. "I'll need to be able to fight for myself, if I'm going to do 'acts of chivalry' for 'damsels in distress—'"

"You do not need to learn swordplay, my lady. As your servant, _I_ will do any necessary fighting for you—"

"It's not you who's joining the Knights!" Clara said fiercely, spinning around to face him. " _I'm_ the one who's got to do it, _I_ have to do this. There's no arguing about it. This discussion is finished. I order you, Sebastian. To the best of your ability, you will teach me swordplay."

Sebastian was slow to respond; she could tell he was reluctant. "Very well then, my lady. Shall we have our first lesson on Monday at five o'clock, in the empty storeroom?"

"Yes, that will do."

* * *

Clara spun around, her sword clashing noisily with Sebastian's. They had been at it for nearly an hour, and already her forehead was beaded with sweat, her sore arms shaking badly, and her sides were cramping painfully.

"You need to put more weight behind your parry," Sebastian was saying loudly. "Otherwise, you—"

"I'm—trying—" Clara panted, her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus again. "But—I can't—seem—to—arghhh—"

She dropped her sword and it clattered to the ground as she collapsed to her knees, shutting her eyes tightly. She almost regretted her decision for ordering Sebastian to teach her how to fight with a sword. The sword itself was much heavier than she imagined, and after the first minute, her muscles were already weary from its weight.

"I warned you, my lady. You are not fit for this, you are not strong enough—"

"No!" Clara said at once, and she scrambled up clumsily, taking up the lead-heavy sword again, bringing it into position. "I want to try again."

"Your posture is still wrong," Sebastian commented, his mouth a thin line. "The tip shouldn't point toward to ground—"

"How…?" Clara said, flustered as she tried to keep the leather grip from slipping.

"Like this," Sebastian said, and with two long strides he crossed the room and was standing behind her, sliding his arms over hers and placing his hands over her fingers. "Adjust your left hand here—"

There was a loud clang as Clara dropped her sword again and forcefully pushed him away from her. Her golden eyes flashed as she whipped around to face him.

"Don't touch me," she spat, her voice full of venom. In that moment she looked quite mad, her face livid, her eyes blazing, her fists curled at her sides….

Sebastian took a step back, his eyes wide. "Apologies, my lady," he said. "I will not make the same mistake—"

"You will not touch me again," she hissed, her teeth bared. "Unless it is absolutely necessary. Do you understand?"

"I—yes, my lady," Sebastian said, recovering from his shock, and he bowed again.

"We are finished here." Clara said coldly, and she swept out the door.

A few angry steps down the corridor, Clara saw a now-familiar tall, brown-haired figure leaning against the wall.

"Well, well," came the light voice of Phillip Blackwood. He turned to her, his eyes unreadable.

"I should have known," he continued. "I should have known when I saw those strange red eyes, black hair, how he never failed to comply with your orders….my dear lady, you neglected to mention that you are the master of a Faustian contract."

"So what if I am?" said Clara menacingly. "Do you think I _wanted_ —"

"No," said Phillip, taking a step back, slightly alarmed at her temper.

"But I want to warn you, Nightcrow, that the Knights have a bad history with demons….these things never end well, you know…."

"Well, thank you for your warning, Blackwood," Clara snapped, swishing past him in a flurry of white robes. "But I must be on my way now."

"Your quest begins tomorrow," he called after her loudly. "I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Clara Nightcrow…."


	5. The First Mission

_**A/N:**_ _HIIII readers, I'm so sorry that it took so long to update...but as you probably know, the reason for this is undeniably, unquestionably... school. It's been keeping me so so so so busy, and...this is kinda disappointing, but from now on, I'll most likely only update about once a month. It seems bad, I know, but I just can't keep up with everything that's going on at once, so I'll have to limit my time with this fanfic :/  
_

 _But please, please, please stick with me here as I have very big plans from this story and I hope you all can read and enjoy it. Also if you can, hmu with a fav, a follow, and a review! I'll love you forever if you do. :)))))  
_

 _JUST ONE MORE THING: as it's been a while since the beginning of this fic, you should probably go back to the chapter "The Silencer" to have better context of what's going on here, since this chapter is basically an extension of what happens there._

 _Well that's all I have to say for now. So (hopefully) enjoy this new update. I'll be back in about a month. (If I'm not, I'll at least post an author's note with very profuse apologies and a good explanation as to why I've neglected my promise to you all.)  
_

* * *

Clara scanned the newspaper article carefully again, holding it to the sunlight. Its headline, ' _Mysterious Murder of Ministry Mediary Maxwell Mason',_ jumped garishly out at her vision. Phillip stood beside her, his eyes squinting a little against the light.

They were at the Blackpool Pier; the weak autumn sun was shining upon the glittering water of the lake, and the sky was a light, clear blue. Across the lake, there was a small, quaint-looking town glistening under the sun. In the cool autumn weather, it seemed everyone was outside enjoying the last bits of sunshine before winter set in; the pier was just as noisy as the rest of London, with children running amok, the men working among boats and ferries in the dock, and a smell of fish hanging pungently in the air. But the people seemed to avoid a small portion of the dock that was roped off, where a thin outline of a man was chalked on the ground in white.

"He was murdered here, on this boardwalk, at midnight…." Phillip was saying, scrutinizing the scene. "...the fourth to die by the hands of 'the Silencer….'"

Clara remained silent, a frown deepening on her face. It was hard to imagine a serial killer prowling the streets of the lively town, especially now, in the bright daylight. "It's all very strange, isn't it?" she said suddenly. "A man shows up dead on this pier….and there's nothing to suggest he was even murdered….he just seemed to _drop dead_ …."

"You're right, of course," said Phillip cheerfully. "That's why this case is perfect for you. I daresay you'll be able to beat the Scotland Yard in their investigation."

Clara scowled. "Blackwood, my family's lives are at stake here. The longer these "missions" take—"

"It can't be helped," said Phillip simply. "And I'm already pushing the boundaries, helping you like this on your first assignment."

Clara could not think of anything to say to that, so she settled to glower threateningly at him for the next several seconds.

"Look, let's go ask around the locals," said Phillip hastily, more to escape her withering stare than anything. "They might have some information."

Clara grumbled an agreement to this, and they set off about the Blackpool Pier.

"What was that bloke's name again? The one that found him this morning?" asked Phillip wonderingly. "Horton? Or Harris?"

"His name is Samuel Higgins," said Clara in a dignified voice. "Known as 'Sam' by the locals—"

"Did I 'ear me name?"

Clara and Phillip turned around to find an old, gray-haired, hunched old man hobbling toward them. It looked as though this man had not shaved in days; his face was shadowed with rough-looking stubble, and his stringy hair was very greasy, hanging lankily about his face. He smiled widely at them as he approached (Clara counted four missing teeth), and a smell of sour liquor greeted them when he was close enough to speak.

"'Spect you're here for the Mason fella that died last night?" The man looked at them eagerly, squinting in the sun.

"Er—" said Phillip, clearing his throat, a little disconcerted. "I suppose you're Mr. Samuel Higgins?"

"Thas' right, I am. Seen me name in the papers, then?" Higgins said, smiling again.

"Yes, we wanted to ask some questions regarding Mr. Mason," said Clara, trying hard not to stare at the large gaps between his teeth.

"O' course," said Mr. Higgins, and he jumped at once into speech: "I found 'im this mornin' when I was about to dump the bins," he said, his rheumy eyes serious, glancing at Clara and Phillip in turn. "He was just lyin' there, on the dock, I thought maybe he had too much to drink the nigh' before….so I walked up to 'im, shoutin'...I thought he was sleepin', see….but then I noticed he wasn't breathin', wasn't movin'..." His eyes widened dramatically, and he looked at the pair of them as though expecting to see some sort of reaction. When none came, he went on, rather disappointedly, "I sent my boy Tommy to the police….some of the Blackpool folks came down to the docks to help carry his body…."

"So—this man, Mason—have you seen him around before?" Clara said, clearing her throat.

Mr. Higgins shook his head. "I ain't ever seen 'im before, an' I know every face in Blackpool."

Clara exchanged a glance with Phillip.

Clara paused, thinking. Then she said, "Mr. Higgins, I don't suppose you meet often with the residents of that town across the lake?"

"That town? Glenport, ye mean? No, ma'am, we don't see any of 'em except them folks who come down for trade, an' they haven't been down fer at least a year."

"Are there any ferries that cross the lake?"

"Yes, ma'am, there are," said Higgins, and he suddenly straightened proudly. "Only a sixpence apiece!"

Clara turned to Phillip. "I'll bet you anything Mason came here from Glenport last night," she said in a low voice.

Phillip nodded, murmuring an agreement. "We'll go investigate there next."

"Ye won't be wanting to go to Glenport, though, are ye?" said Mr. Higgins, looking slightly alarmed.

"Er—we are, actually," said Phillip smiling widely. "Why, is there something—?"

"Oh no, there's strange goings-ons at Glenport," said Mr. Higgins darkly, shaking his head. "Some say they're breedin' somethin' there. Somethin' evil, somethin' foul…." Mr. Higgins gave a full-body shiver, his stubbly chin quivering. "Unnatural, it is. An' half the folk who go there never return….I know I've 'eard—I've 'eard 'em scream sometimes, comin' from across the shore…." His speech trailed off; he seemed lost in his recollections.

Clara and Phillip exchanged another significant glance.  
"Mr. Higgins, I hope you won't mind terribly, but could you take a ferry for us across the lake?" asked Clara. "We'll pay you a shilling each, will that do?"

"Alright, ma'am, but I ain't waitin' long for you to come back. Ain't a happy place, Glenport," said Mr. Higgins, shaking his head as he hobbled away on his feet. "This way, this way…."

He shuffled them to a battered fishing boat whose paint was peeling off; Clara could make out the faded words ' _The Sienna'_ painted on its hull. She stepped onto the deck gingerly, the boat swayed underneath her feet.

"Didn't you tell Sebastian to meet us at the Blackpool dock?" Phillip said, looking at Clara amusedly as he climbed aboard after her.

"Oh, yes," said Clara vaguely. "But I'm sure he'll be able to find us."

Mr. Higgins stepped into the boat now and took up the oars; although he looked old and frail, he rowed the boat with apparent ease and boat glided smoothly across the surface of the lake, and the cool wind created little waves, rippling the water.

"I wonder what Mason could've done, to get himself killed like that," Clara said quietly to Phillip, watching the small town slide closer into view.

"The paper said something about him being in possession of 'information of a sensitive nature', no?" said Phillip, his brows creasing, looking thoughtful. "Though….how _did_ the Silencer kill his victims….?"

The boat bumped to a stop abruptly. Clara looked up at the small town of Glenport. Uniform little houses with terracotta rooftops rose up on a hill; Glenport, which from a distance had appeared nice and sunny, was in reality very different from the lively, loud atmosphere of Blackpool; there were no children running about, no men working at the dock, and no merchants lining the streets. Everything was dead silent except for the sound of soft waves hitting the shore.

"Go on, then," Mr. Higgins said loudly, ushering them ashore. "I'll give you two about half an hour. Then I'm gonna leave, and you'll have to take one o' them Glenport ferries back."

"C'mon," muttered Phillip, helping Clara ashore as he pressed a few coins into Mr. Higgins's waiting palm.

The moment Clara stepped onto the dock, she felt a shock of unease trickle down her spine. She glanced fleetingly at Phillip; it seemed he was experiencing the same too. The sky above them was still a pale, clear blue, just like it was at Blackpool, but here it was all different; apart from being unearthly silent, the town also seemed to be frozen: nothing moved, there was not a puff of smoke from chimney heads, no flicker of light from a nearby window, and not even a scurry of movement of small birds in the trees. It was too quiet….far too quiet. They walked quickly up the deserted street, leaving Mr. Higgins contentedly counting his sum. It was as if the whole town was asleep; the crunching of gravel beneath their feet seemed magnified tenfold in the eerie silence of the surrounding town.

"Hello! Is anyone here?" Phillip called into the distance, when they were in the middle of the avenue. The town did not stir; the shutters of all the houses remained closed, and still not a single soul was to be seen.

"There!" said Phillip suddenly, pointing to a distant spot near a large house that was perched on the top of the hill. Clara squinted her eyes at a form of a young woman, bent down over the gardens at the gates of the house.

"Let's go," said Clara softly, quickening her pace. "If we're going to get answers, it's not going to be from any of _these_ houses." She gestured at the silent buildings around her.

Phillip nodded his consent, and they continued mutely up the main avenue.

"Oy!" said Phillip, spurring forward to the gate once they were within earshot of the girl who was weeding the flowerbed. "You there!" She looked up in surprise, her eyes comically wide, her mouth open in a silent "o".

"Blackwood!" Clara hissed. "Don't be so—"

But Phillip merely waved away her protest with a lazy hand, gesturing at her to come forward. Clara jogged to the gate, grumbling to herself.

The young girl, dressed in a maid's uniform, looked to be no more than sixteen or seventeen, with pale, freckly cheeks and mousy brown hair tied up in a bun. She did not speak as they approached her.

"Hello, miss," said Phillip pleasantly. "A fine day, isn't it?"

The girl remained stock still, halfway bent to the flowerbed, her hands frozen in midair as if she were deliberating what to do with them.

Clara said inquiringly, "We were just passing by that little town across the lake, and we couldn't help but wonder about the murder last night—"

At this the girl began to shake her head very fast, her hair bouncing back and forth in its bun.

"What—"

The girl pressed a finger to her lips insistently.

Clara frowned, leaning in closer to speak in a hushed tone, "Do you know something? Can't you tell us—?"

But the girl continued to shake her head.

Clara continued desperately, "Please, we really need—"

Phillip elbowed her in the ribs, throwing her a sharp look that clearly meant, ' _let me handle this'._

"Here, why don't you get up from the ground?" Phillip suggested kindly, flashing a dazzling smile and pulling the girl up gently by her arms. The girl averted her gaze, blushing lightly.

"I apologize if we frightened you about the murder," said Phillip, putting a hand to the girl's cheek lightly. "But we really need to know everything we can find out. Would you do me a favor, dear?"

Clara chortled silently. Phillip seemed to be laying it on a bit thick in her opinion….there was no way anyone would fall for a trick like that.

But the girl, who was blushing furiously now, nodded slowly and began proceeding along the side of the gate. Clara looked up in surprise as the girl led them down a small stone path, at the end of which another large, black, iron gate could be seen.

"Thank you," Phillip called as he and Clara followed closely from behind. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Anna." The girl's voice was quiet and a little hoarse, as if she hadn't used it in years and intent on making the smallest noise possible. _Phillip might be a flirt,_ Clara thought, gratified, _but he was damn useful in situations like this._

"Are you the maid of this household?" asked Clara sharply.

Anna nodded.

"Where….where are the other people?"

She did not answer this time.

"Do you think someone still lives here?" Clara whispered to Phillip.

"They must….they've got a maid, haven't they?" he muttered. "They won't be too glad about us being here, mind. It'd be good if we got back before they found out."

They had reached the large gate. Anna fumbled around for the key, inserted it into the lock, and with a small click, the gate swung open.

They were now looking at a row of unmarked greenhouses. Anna beckoned at them as she turned another key into the door of the first greenhouse and stepped into it. Clara slipped inside the greenhouse after her, feeling the air grow warmer and thicker around her.

The bright colors of exotic looking blooms splashed across her vision; great, leafy, green vines hung from pots dangling from the ceiling, tendrils of bushy green plants filled the windows, the slanting sunlight dappled their leaves, paint-like, and the whole room smelled strongly of soil and overpowering, sweet flower-nectar.

But Anna had not stopped to introduce them to the remarkable plants around them. Instead, she wended her way to the far corner, bent down, and pointed at something, looking up at them expectantly.

Clara moved forward cautiously, tensed in case something might go wrong. But nothing jumped out at her as she craned her neck to look at a rectangular plot of whitish-yellow flowers, growing neatly in little pots. When she looked closer, she noticed some of the flowers had been cut off, leaving only a small portion of the stem in the pot.

"Chrysanthemum flowers…." murmured Clara, frowning. "Weren't all the victims found with—"

"Good God," whispered Phillip. "There are four flowers missing….four….one for each of them…."

Anna nodded feverishly. She pointed at herself, at the flowers, then put an urgent finger to her lips. Her message could not have been clearer; Clara and Phillip were not to tell anyone what she had shown them.

"Hello there," said a sudden voice behind them. "I see Anna has shown you my gardens?"

Clara whirled around. A thin, tall man with glossy dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses had appeared behind them. His eyes were small and beady, his nose was thin and long, and his cheeks were very hollow, giving him the appearance of an over-starved rat. He was dressed in a long, white smock that reached his calves; he looked a little like a misplaced doctor, standing amidst the messy greens in pristine, clean-cut clothes.

Anna drew back into the wall, her eyes downcast, as if she wanted to disappear among the plants. She had grown very tense; her hands were clasped tightly together, her chin clenched, and behind a curtain of mousy hair obscuring her face, Clara could see that she was frowning deeply.

"Er—yes," said Phillip quickly, bowing at once. "I apologize for intruding, sir, Miss Anna here was only just showing us these wonderful—ah—hydrangeas." He gestured randomly at the blue blossoms hanging to his left.

"Calatheas," said the man, his smiling, although the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Pardon?"

"They're calatheas," the man repeated, stepping forwards to caress one of the blue flowers. "Exceedingly rare in this climate, found in tropical regions only—the lengths at which I went to obtain them—" He paused suddenly, looking back at Clara and Phillip. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Of course, of course," said Phillip, bowing again. "My name is James Smith."

Clara understood immediately why he was giving a false name — perhaps Phillip, like her, did not entirely trust this man before them.

"And this is my sister, Joanna Smith." Clara gave a calculated smile and a polite curtsy.

"I am Dr. Patrick Kellnesworth," said the man. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Ms. Smith."

"And I, you. So you're doctor, then?" Phillip asked in a very convincing surprised tone.

"Yes, I am particularly interested in botany and its uses in medicine," said Kellnesworth. "I maintain these greenhouses at my estate for further research….so you see, I was a little surprised to see….visitors." His eyes bored into the two of them, and one of his hands twitched towards Anna, who was still cowering in the corner.

"Well, you see, Doctor…." Phillip began airily. "We were passing by Blackpool this morning and couldn't help noticing the murder scene of Mr. Maxwell….so we took it upon ourselves to investigate a little further. We were lead, naturally, to Glenport, and then we came into your little garden." Phillip paused, glancing at the chrysanthemums. "And we've noticed some strange things…."

"Strange? How so?" Kellnesworth said, his expression freezing.

"Like _this,_ " Clara interjected severely, pointing at the chopped stalks. "Would you mind explaining this, Doctor Kellnesworth? _Four_ missing flowers, _four_ victims, each found with one flower at the murder scene….we can add two and two together, you know."

The smile slid off Kellnesworth's face like butter, his face coloring rapidly. "How dare you — in my own house — are you suggesting that _I_ am the murderer?"

"No, of course not —" Phillip backed away, his hands in the air.

" _Out!"_ yelled Kellnesworth, spittle flying from his mouth as he threw his arm out at the door. "Get out! I will not have this in my house, no sir!"

"Sir, if you would please —!"

But Phillip did not finish his sentence as they were shoved out of the greenhouse and the large iron gate. The lock loudly clicked behind them.

"Good-bye!" shouted Kellnesworth from behind the gate. "Get on your way, now!"

Clara and Phillip exchanged incredulous looks.

"Please, Doctor Kellnesworth—"

" _Begone,_ I said!" Kellnesworth cut in, brandishing his walking stick at them. "Go now and do not return!"

Clara and Phillip scurried back down the avenue where they had come from, casting alarmed glances at the mad old man shouting at them from behind the gate.

"So," said Phillip, once they were out of earshot, "That went well."

Clara scowled. "No, it didn't. We didn't uncover anything besides those missing flowers."

"Well, that Kellnesworth fellow's a mite suspicious, if you ask me."

"But he won't tell us anything about the murders either."

"Oh, come now, Nightcrow, you can't possibly have expected to solve the whole thing out on the first day, can you?"

Clara continued to scowl at the ground and did not answer.

"At any rate, let's get back to London. I'm sure Sebastian will have more information on the victims…."

Clara shut her eyes tight, her head beginning to throb dully. She did not think that she was in form to deal with her butler just yet….

"I suppose." Clara agreed finally.

"Anyways, a great start to your first mission, don't you think?" Phillip said brightly.

* * *

 _P.S. I'll most likely add a second part to this chapter sometime soon. I'm sorry I couldn't release it all at once, but the second part wasn't ready and I didn't want it to look as if I'd just abandoned this fic. So keep your eyes peeled for the THE FIRST MISSION PT. 2 ;)_


	6. AUTHOR'S NOTE: IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS

Hi readers! Yeah, it's been a month. And yeah, I don't have the rest of "The First Mission" ready for you guys to read.

This author's note is the very profuse apology I owe you guys (see my last chapter for the details) not updating this fic within a month….and I hope you'll be patient with me, and please bear with me here because I _am_ trying to work harder at making time to write.

First off, I'm sorry for disappointing you again with my promise to upload every month. Like I said before….school was just getting way too heavy and I can't seem to have even one moment to sit down and write.

But I did take the time to think about the progress of this fic and I came to a decision that _**I will not be updating this fic for the next few months.**_ As you may guess, this all has something to do with school eating up all my free time….but also I think it'll be better for everyone here if I can get more chapters done in my short hiatus time and then be ahead of my publishing schedule for the following months. That way, I'll be able to update more regularly.

I will still be checking my notifications, however, so if you have any questions/comments/concerns you can leave me a PM or review.

Now, for some good news: I will be having a break from school soon (yay!), and I'm actually making more progress in the chapter than I have been doing in past weeks. In fact I have the rest of the chapter planned out; I just need put it all together. My hiatus _MAY OR MAY NOT_ get cut short, depending on how fast I write….but if not, expect me back sometime around the end of this year (that sounds like a long time away but it's really not; if you think about it, it's only like two months :0 _HELP life is passing by too fast_!)

That's all for this A/N for now. Again, I'm really sorry about this and I hope you guys can still stick with me and my inconsistency. Thanks for reading!


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